


Whiskey Shared

by RedEris



Series: Trick Ryder [3]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Breakups, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 07:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10589043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/pseuds/RedEris
Summary: Trick Ryder copes with the fallout from split-second decisions that cut off a relationship he was coming to value, and finds that he's made better friends than he realized.





	

Trick held the stolen whiskey bottle in his hands, rotating it slowly. There were still maybe four shots sloshing gently in the bottom, burning with the distant memory of Sol and Earth. 

They'd sat on the roof sharing it, him and Reyes, and for maybe the first time, Heleus had felt a little like home, really home. They'd talked and dreamed and kissed, kissed like he'd known they would, and he'd been-- comfortable. Free. It had felt good. Like a beginning.

The room Reyes had brought him to had been devoid of personal effects, and maybe that should have been a warning, but he'd had other things on his mind.

“Your place?” he'd asked at the door, eager to know more, to see what kind of things Reyes chose to surround himself with.

“For the moment.”

He knew there'd be no sign of Reyes there if he returned.

It had been--well. It had been fantastic. Reyes had been skillful, passionate, considerate, responsive… It had also been Trick’s first time in not 600 years, but 604. Maybe 606 since it had really meant something.

In the morning, they'd made love again, lazy and comfortable, and then gone out for breakfast. Then one last kiss. Reyes had given him the whiskey, and Trick had said he'd hold it 'til next time.

The memory had warmed him many times since, but now it made a cold knot in the pit of his stomach.

He'd known as soon as Reyes had stepped out of the shadows of the cave. He really wasn't stupid, only distracted and desperately lonely. Of course the Charlatan wasn't going to just ignore a Pathfinder in his territory. Of course it'd be someone he’d met. But Reyes…

He hadn't been conscious of making a choice when his headlamp caught the flash of the scope. He'd still been reeling, trying desperately to process what was happening, trying to decide how to intervene. He'd just moved on instinct, responding to danger instantly to shove Sloane out of the path of the bullet. 

But he supposed, looking back, that it counted as a decision after all. He hadn't jumped to save Reyes, only Sloane. If he'd had time to spell the thought out, his obvious conclusion was that if someone was doing something underhanded here, it was Reyes. Sloane was a blunt instrument.

What he wouldn't have given for time. Time to ask questions. Time to make considered decisions. Time, please, _just a minute here…_

But there hadn't been time. 

He'd stopped Reyes--stopped the Charlatan-- and then let him go, and he'd been cold and sick and lost ever since.

The worst of it was that no one knew how much he hurt. There’d be no comforting words, no sounding board. Well, SAM knew, and had offered his condolences quite properly. But it wasn't the same. Not the same as Vick telling him he was a stupid ass and holding him while he cried, like she had after his last relationship tanked. Not that going to her would be the same, her sleeping body still on the cot. It’d just make it worse. SAM was...a friend? Of sorts. But he certainly didn't understand this, and had said as much. No one here knew what he kept inside. It'd been nothing but congratulations all round on finally getting an Outpost, on opening up the last of their Golden Worlds. A celebration. Brave words for Addison to broadcast. A bright, frozen smile.

And nothing but an email from Reyes. Three lines. SAM had traced all of the messages he'd sent without being asked, but they all lead to public kiosks. He knew he wouldn't see the Charlatan again unless the Charlatan decided to see him.

A knock on the door startled him. People rarely disturbed him in his room, and he hadn't really invited them in, to be honest.

“Who is it?”

“Vetra. Can I come in?”

“Door's always open for you,” he chirped, scrambling to stuff the whiskey bottle back in a cabinet. He hadn't been actually crying, hadn't managed to digest enough for crying, so he should look alright.

Vetra came in hesitantly, looking around the edge of the door.

“What can I do you for?”. He smiled warmly and gestured to a chair.

Vetra glanced at the chair but held her place. “Well I--actually, I thought maybe you might need someone. If...that’s okay. That was a pretty bad scene back there in Draullir. Not the way I'd want to end a relationship.”

“I--”. Trick froze.

“You can be honest, you know. I won't break if the Pathfinder turns out not to be an invulnerable god.”

Trick stood still, grasping at the frayed threads of his composure.

“I-- fucked up. Bad.”

“Yeah? Because from here, everyone made it out alive and now we have an Outpost. Anything else is on Reyes.”

“He used me.” Trick slumped back onto his bed.

“Yup.”

“I knew-- I mean--I knew he was a criminal, and a smuggler, but I thought-- I thought, he’s a good man, underneath. Just trying to get by. I mean, you were a criminal too, but...you know?”

“I do,” said Vetra, turning the chair and leaning over the back. “But I try not to lie to people I care about. I try to keep them out of my dealings, not deliberately involve them.”

“Did he? Care about me? I don’t know. I thought we had something, maybe, something good. But maybe it was all just so I’d choose him, in that moment.”

“I think he cared. For what that’s worth. I don’t think he could’ve counted on you being there.”

“But then, what if I saved _Sloane_ because of that? Was that the right choice, or was I just blindsided and hurting? He’s...I don’t know. Maybe he would have been better for Kadara, if he’d taken over. I think he wanted the outpost. Probably no heads on spikes.”

“Maybe. Hard to know. They both did some pretty nasty things to get and hold power. They both might’ve been making the best choices they could see. I think they both care about Kadara and the exiles. But now, neither of them is dead, and things go on, and things change. It’s not like you married Sloane, either. She’s got her chance now, to play nice and show what she can do with proper resources and competition. It’s just a chance.”

“I just...I wish...there was no time to talk about anything. I had--have--so many questions. It was over before I had any idea what was going on, and now I’ve got nothing but an email.”

“An email?”

He had it memorized already. “‘For what it’s worth,’” he intoned, “‘I’ve never known a man like you. Goodbye, Ryder.’ That’s the whole thing.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“Listen, uh...the crew’s got a little dinner coming together. For you. I’ll understand if you want to stay in, I’ll go tell them, but…”

“No I’m--I’m fine. Gotta eat anyway, right?”

Vetra’s mandibles flexed in her equivalent of a smile as she got up. “Guess so.”

“Hey Vetra? Thanks. A lot.”

“Anytime, Trick.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The team was all there already when he got to the cramped dining compartment. Gil spotted him first.

“Heeey, the man of the hour has arrived!”

A small cheer went up from the rest, and Trick mustered a genuine enough smile. They were great people, and he was happy for them. He took the indicated seat, and the bowl someone plunked in front of him, letting himself fade into in the banter and laughter.

A small hand touched his arm, and he turned to see Suvi, eyes big with worry.

“I wanted to say, I heard what happened, and I’m sorry about your boyfriend. Are you alright?”

Trick blinked. “He’s not my--wait.” He looked around the room, where all eyes were suddenly on him. The levity had been abruptly put on pause. “Wait, you all knew? About me and Reyes?”

“You silly fuck,” Gil laughed. “You were moony!”

“You thought it was a _secret?_ ” Peebee’s eyebrows arched over her black masking. “Well, you’re not cut out to be a criminal mastermind, anyhow.”

“So I guess it’s over?” said Liam.

“Yeah. I guess so. Sent me an email to say goodbye.”

“An email? Damn, that’s cold. Could’ve at least recorded something.” Liam stretched over the table to thump him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. It’s rough. Let me know if you need to talk.”

Trick opened his mouth, and then closed it. Finally, “Thanks. Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“I never liked him,” Jaal rumbled. “He was a criminal. Not a trustworthy individual. But he made you smile. I am sorry also.”

“Twisty bastard,” Drack added. “Kinda respect that. He almost won. Sorry you got hurt though. I’ll beat him up for you if you want.”

“No that’s...that’s okay. Thanks. To everyone. Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, as he sat on the edge of his bed slipping out of his shoes, his eyes were inevitably drawn back to the whiskey bottle. It still hurt. A lot. But a little of the cold sickness had gone out of it.


End file.
